Once Upon A Time
by hell-whim
Summary: It got cold quickly, and Pippin had nothing left to think of. MP friendship, maybe AU, one-shot


**Title:** Once Upon a Time  
**Author:** freak-pudding  
**Summary:** It got cold quickly, and Pippin had nothing left to think of.  M/P friendship, maybe AU, one-shot  
**Author's Note:** Why?  I don't know anymore.  I guess I'm going psycho.  And my sister just showed me a picture where Denethor looks exactly like Ozzy Osborne...

Um, moving on… Inspired by another fanfic.  I swear, I only borrowed one line, and all of this is meant as flattery to that author's amazing talent.  I'd also like it to be noted that this is in **_NO_** way a slash fic.  I have nothing wrong with gays/lesbians, but Merry and Pippin are cousins.  And where I come from, that's only legal in Alabama.

If you're a terribly kind person, please tell me where my mistakes are.  I'm feeling a little lazy at the moment.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine but wish it was; didn't mean any harm to any involved parties.

- - -

            It grew dark quickly that night, Pippin notices.  And cold.  Very, very cold.

            He hadn't noticed before the way the warmth slipped from his small body these past few hours, like water running off his skin after a calming bath.  He notes it now, though.  Bitter, angry cold swallows Pippin without mercy, leaving him naked and bleeding in the dark.  The little hobbit whimpers and draws further into himself.

            It seeps into Pippin's body from the ground, numbing his feet and his legs, and his arms and his stomach.  It's nearing his heart now, and Pippin seeks for something to warm himself.  But nothing is there.  And no one is near him.

            No one, that is, except Merry.  But the other hobbit is silent and unmoving.  Pippin is confused by this and calls out in worry.

            "Merry!"

            "Shut up, you dung-hole rat!"

            The laughter is grating, and Pippin struggles with his bonds.  He sits on the edge of a circle of crimson light.  The filthy Orcs that attacked him and Merry and Boromir are laughing at him, and Pippin is ashamed.

            "Let them talk," Uglúk, the apparent leader of the group, laughs. "It's all they'll have for a good long while."

            A few other Uruks laugh at this, but Pippin ignores them with difficulty.  He focuses all his energy on the crumpled form before him and calls again.

            "Merry."

            "Yeah, Pip?"

            There is only the tiniest hint of movement, the slightest wave of the golden curls from a painful exhale, but Pippin is glad.  Merry's eyes are closed, and the cut above his eyebrow glitters with fresh blood.  The face is worn and tired.  Pippin tries to imagine that the look is peaceful, but he knows it isn't.

            Pippin is happy though, because now he is not alone.

            "Something on your mind?"

            "Once… once upon a time…"

            Merry gives a jaded snort of amusement at this.

            "I thought _I_ told the stories," he says quietly.  Pippin smiles as the eyes open, and the golden curls, though matted with dirt and blood, seem to glow in the twilight.

            "Well, it's my turn tonight," he says, and Merry sighs. "Once upon a time… there were these two friends."

            "Only two?"

            "Well, once they had lots of other friends with them."

            "Did they indeed?"

            The tone is bitter, but Pippin chooses to ignore it.  Merry struggles up and leans against the tree.  He faces the East and nods slightly for Pippin to continue.

            "Yes, many, many friends… once.  But not now.  Now it's just them."

            A stream babbles somewhere in the distance, and Pippin chokes back thoughts of the Fellowship along with a dry sob.  Merry turns his head at the noise and studies the little one's face.

            "What are they like, these two?" he asks gently.  Pippin glances quickly to his cousin and carries on.

            "Well, one's older.  But not _old_.   Just… older than the other one," Pippin mumbles, feeling desperately angry and pathetic.  He is angry with himself, and with Frodo for leaving.  He is even angry with Bilbo for finding the stupid Ring. "He's smart, this older one.  And funny.  And a really good prankster.  But… but, he knows that he's screwed up a few times, and it's okay.  He takes care of the younger one, even… even until he gets hurt sometimes."

            "I bet he's a real dolt most of the time though," Merry cuts in, and Pippin lets him. "And maybe if he didn't always mess up, then he wouldn't have to get hurt.  I bet he just pretends to be smart.  I bet he's really stupid and too young to understand."

            Merry coughs then, and Pippin cringes at the sound.  It is wracking and phlegmy, and Pippin imagines that it is really Death laughing.

            "Sometimes, the older one underestimates himself too much.  He doesn't think he's as great as he is.  That he's as great as the younger one thinks," Pippin says slowly.  Merry casts him a withering glance, and it is coupled with a cheerless smile.  A little piece of Pippin's heart dies.

            "What about the other one?"

            "This other one's kind of an idiot.  He was always getting in the way of their other friends and always getting them into trouble.  He always ate too much, slept too much, talked too much—"

            "The younger one underestimated himself, too," Merry interrupts softly.  Pippin's tear-filled eyes meet his in the darkness. "They were alike in that way and in others.  Sometimes they were stupid together.  Sometimes the younger one was unbelievably clever, even when he didn't mean to be.  And he was really good at spinning tales."

            The cousins share another smile.

            "Set the scene, Pip."

            "Oh, right!" the little hobbit smiles and thinks for a moment. "These two were alone, like I said before.  But they weren't lonely.  A warming fire was slowly dying beside them, and the night was dark, but they sang and laughed and talked."

            Pippin glances around them and decides that it was a good place to start a story.  The trees are large and welcoming.  The ground is springy with moss and soft with moisture.  The babbling stream seems to be singing a lullaby to the dark.

            "It's late at night, and the two friends are sleeping.  Or trying to," Pippin frowns. "It's really quiet, and they try not to talk too loudly."

            "Where are they sleeping?" Merry prompts quietly. "What does the place look like?"

            "Trees, rocks, grass… the usual," Pippin replies, shrugging.  Merry chuckles painfully.

            "This younger one wasn't much for details, was he?" he asks.  Pippin looks hurt, and Merry feels guilty of what he said. "He didn't care so much for the intricacies of things.  He liked looking at the big picture.  He didn't always stop to smell every flower, but he usually got where he was going faster than others."

            Pippin remains silent, and Merry relents.

            "Describe the grass, Pip.  What color is it?"

            "Green," Pippin mumbles at last. "Like the grass at home."

            "But it wasn't the grass at home, was it?" Merry doesn't wait for a reply this time. "Because the grass at home was soft and a lovely emerald green.  And when you laid down on it, you felt like you were sleeping on a deep, wonderful feather mattress.  But this grass… this grass was coarse and an ugly, dead brown.  And it itched terribly, even through their clothing—"

            "The older rambled sometimes," Pippin cuts in, signaling his forgiveness. "He focused a lot on the details, and sometimes he'd miss what was really important.  But he was really good at story-telling.  Even if they were full of intracracies."

            "_In-tri-ca-cies_."

            "That's what I said."

            They both sigh in exasperation, and then Pippin laughs softly.

            "So there they are, talking quietly."

            "What are they talking about?" Merry asks.

            "Oh… things," Pippin grins, despite himself. "Mostly they talk about their homes and their families, and all the friends they once had."

            Merry begins to cough again, and Pippin waits patiently.  When the fit is over, Merry slumps back against the tree.

            "So, one night, they're just sitting there," Pippin continues. "And suddenly, a man comes to their circle of firelight."

            "Was he a tall man?"

            "Yes," says Pippin, after thinking a moment. "His hair was dark, the color of ripe chestnuts, and his eyes were as grey as the stormy seas."

            "Nice," Merry wheezes.  Pippin grins at the compliment.

            "He wears a tunic of dark blue scattered over with silver stars.  It looks like he wears the midnight sky upon his chest, with a cloak of sunset clasped about his shoulders.  He towers over the friends, but they look at him without fright.

            "'Friends, traveling folk,' he says, 'might I acquire rest at the side of your fire?'"

            "'We'll do you better than that,' they reply," Merry whispers, grinning weakly. "Because these two loved company, didn't they, Pip?"

            "Yes," says Pippin quietly. "So, they offered the man a pipe and some food, and he sat beside t hem and spoke to them."

            "What did he say?"

            "He told them of his home, his family, and his life.  He said, 'I am not always a good man or a just man, but I try my hardest to do the right thing.'

            "He looked around then, as if waiting for someone to jump out of the dark and attack them.

            "'There is not much in this world that can turn a man's heart.  I hope my heart has been turned in the right direction, though.'

            "The two friends asked him what he spoke of, and the man looked ashamed.

            "'I have betrayed a friend,' he replied. 'Are you not ashamed of me?'

            "'No,' the friends said. 'You are a good man, as you say.  Why should you betray?'

            "But the man would not reply.  He hung his head, drinking from the cup before him.  The small group sat in silence for hours, not moving or speaking.

            "Quite suddenly, the man stood up.  He was alarmed, worried about something."

            At that moment, Pippin looks over and sees that Merry has slumped over onto the grass.  His face is buried in the grass, and Pippin imagines that he is trying to sleep.

            "The man seemed torn in two.  Part of him wished to remain beside the warm fire, but the other wished to go into the darkness.  The cup of ale slipped from his hands, falling with a gentle _clunk_ on the forest floor.  The two friends could see now what had startled the man."

            Pippin glances at Merry again, who seems undisturbed.  The Uruk-hai have disbanded for the night, seeking rest in hollows on the ground.  A group of four sits very close to the hobbits, and Pippin feels fear seize his heart.  He takes a quick breath, plunging back into his story.

            "A creature of some sort has found them.  It will not approach the light, staying instead on the very edge of the fire's glow.  Its eyes seemed to be an eerie sort of yellow, almost like a cat's.  It stares blankly forward, not focused on anything at all.  The man seems rooted to the spot in fright.

            "Abruptly, the creature spoke.  It said, '_Truth waits for you outside of the circle.  Will you not join me here?_'

            "The friends fear this creature, this lover of darkness, so they stay where they are.  But the man, they see, is swain by its words.  He takes one step towards it, then another.

            "'Stay back, friend!' cries one of the two. 'Surely this beast is a tempter sent to hinder you in your quest.'

            "'It is not,' the man replies. 'He tempts indeed, but he is my friend.  Farewell, my good sirs.'"

            Pippin takes a deep breath, staring at the golden curls.  Something isn't right here.  Even as the thought forms upon the tip of his mind, Pippin shoves it out.  He will not; he cannot think it—

            "With that, the man stepped from the light and was gone.  The friends stood in surprise, calling after him, but to no avail.  The man was truly gone."

            There is almost no sound at all as the wild waits for Pippin to finish his story.

            "And then they were alone again," he says. "But— but it was okay… because…"

            The trees bow under the weight of the wind, and the forest sighs.  The stream stops babbling.  The birds take up a painful dirge.  Pippin bites his lip and tries again.

            One of the soldiers crawls over to Merry.  The grunt reaches out and touches the resigned body.  It makes no resistance, and the Uruk smiles.

            Pippin lies in silent fear, but the beast ignores him.  It is only interested in the other hobbit.

            There comes softest whisper of a dirty blade brushing across soft, yielding flesh, and then it is gone.  Pippin stifles a sob and wills the golden curls to move again.  Prays for the green eyes to find his own, and give him that old familiar feeling of safety.

            "Once upon a time…"

            This time the words are only for himself.  The Uruk snickers and moves away.

            Pippin stares silently at the shapeless lump of a hobbit before him and gently begs for the slightest hint of movement.  None comes, and Pippin can't hold back the tears.

            A few golden rays of sun light upon the little one's face, but he doesn't pay any heed to them.  Merry's stories are old, but Pippin hasn't the strength to keep going for him.

            "There once were these two friends…"

            Pippin chokes back another sob and wishes that Merry would move.  He shouldn't keep talking, but he can't stop.

            Because no story should end like that.  Or like this.

-

fin

**Author's Note:** I went for a little symbolism here.  Tell me what you saw.


End file.
